He left - first taking back his shirt by stripping it off her in a surprising swoop, then telling her "Eat your food, sleep; I'll be back in a few hours with some clothes." He had walked out the door without another word, and now she was left - standing naked in the middle of the room, uncertain of her next move.
For the second time that day, she felt like someone dropped out of an amusement park ride, nerves jangled and head spinning. Feeling her nakedness acutely, she wrapped herself in the blanket off the bed and proceeded to pick through the basket he'd left her: crackers, breads, chocolates, candies, cheese, fruit spreads, and on and on. It was thoughtful. Or maybe it was easy, something he picked up in minutes from a fancy grocery store. And yet somehow even that seemed immense. She couldn't imagine Sabretooth walking into a gourmet grocer asking about gift baskets. For that matter, she couldn't imagine him in any grocery store or doing anything mundane, buying apples, paying rent, parallel parking. But surely he must do those things.
His most recent words had been a revelation steeped in another mystery. She knew more and understood less than she had before. Even Sabretooth himself didn't seem to understand how he felt about the situation. She wondered if he was on the verge, if that was what she had seen in his face before he left. He wanted to kill, but he also wanted to 'fuck' and he couldn't decide which he wanted more. Maybe it really was as simple as that. Sex. It was nothing more than sex. He was a methodical killer, tracking, planning, prepared for every contingency. It made sense that he be equally methodical in seduction. Women like French wine. Check. Women like caviar by a roaring fire. Check. Ororo likes it gentle, and he's willing to act the part. Check.
That's all there was. The fact that he kissed her like a lover, that he made her body react like no man had before meant nothing, or rather, it just meant Ororo was reading things into his touch that she wanted to find. People could make themselves believe anything.
She needed air. The November night had already fallen, and walking out onto the porch, she could barely see the trees at the edge of the clearing. She blinked at the darkness. It had been years since she'd spent the night in a forest, and she had forgotten just how dark it could be far removed from the light residue of towns and shopping complexes. The clouds and canopy overhead obscured the starlight, and the light of the moon still low on the horizon was lost among the trees. For a moment, she wondered how Sabretooth would find his way but then she remembered what little light his eyes required to see.
Thinking back to that night in the mansion, the night she had thought she was dreaming, she wondered how long he had watched her sleep before descending upon her. It chilled her to think of the ease with which he could have slit her throat. Nevertheless, it had been careless of him to try to take her there. Jean or the Professor could have found him and recaptured him; Logan and Scott if they had gotten back in time, might have been able to disable him. What had he been thinking? Had he been so overwhelmed with desire that he had been willing to lose his freedom again?
Suddenly she felt as if she were not alone. Her eyes peered around the clearing but saw nothing more than vague grey shapes before a wall of blackness. "Victor?" she called, her voice seeming incredibly loud. She had never had reservations about standing at her window at night; standing on this porch should not have been different, but it was so very dark and being framed with the firelight from the cabin so that all the forest could observe her naked silhouette made her feel vulnerable. Too many things could be out there watching her, drug dealers, killers, rapists. She shook her head ruefully. What out there could be worse than what was with me tonight? Again she was chilled and retreated back into the cabin, to the false safety of the bed.
Perhaps she really was lulling herself into believing she was safer than she was. Curled up against the wall, the smell of their sex in the air was distracting, perhaps enough to make her forget to be afraid. The afternoon was all about sex she decided. And what happened when the sex ran out, when it ceased to be appealing to him? There was no reason to think the end would be peaceful, no reason to think that Sabretooth, once he'd had his fill, would behave like a normal person. She couldn't imagine he was the type to say, "I think we should see other people." Everything she knew of him pointed to a violent end, her end. She had heard things after all…
She should probably run now while she had the chance. She could fly home, slip into the window, take a long hot shower. If someone was in the yard, she could wait in the distance. It would be uncomfortable, waiting in the garden without clothes until the coast was clear, but she would be home. Safe.
Of course, she knew she wasn't going anywhere at that point. She would wait for him. He wouldn't kill her tonight; it wouldn't make sense to spend hours fetching a new set of clothes just to return and kill her. For some reason, that one reassurance - he won't kill me tonight - eased her nerves enough to trick her into sleep. She felt herself drifting off, the smell of him surrounding her.